Messina Sunlight
by imnotacommittee
Summary: Two unrelated drabbles featuring Beatrice and Benedick (Catherine Tate/David Tennant version of MAAN)
1. Veils

**Disclaimer: **Shakespeare, thank you for creating these two wonderful characters.

**A/N**: These two little stories are not related other than featuring Beatrice and Benedick (and sunlight). For visualization, I see David Tennant and Catherine Tate's portrayals as Benedick and Beatrice.

This chapter takes place before the events of MAAN.

**Veils**

Wiping the sweat from his brow for the fifth time in ten minutes, Benedick exhaled loudly. He was due to the Prince's training in an hour, and a full afternoon of jousting in the unrelenting Messina sun was enough to make him consider resigning from the ranks.

He looked around; mostly all doors were closed to him. He knew the pubs on the other side of town would be open. But he wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by whatever locals would be there.

He turned and saw one open threshold; to a small chapel. Eagerly, he rushed inside. It's most likely to be dark and cool within those walls, he thought. And quiet.

But not empty.

Upon entering, Benedick found one other soul: a woman kneeling before a pair of tombs. He paused, unsure who the woman was; a mantilla of purest white covered her head, and she was hunched over in prayer. Loathe to disturb her, Benedick quietly sat in the back, not so much speaking to his Savior but relishing in the muted light and the refreshing chill of the building.

A light cough filled the silence, bringing Benedick's attention back to the front. The woman slowly stood, arching her back. She turned slowly, pushing the lace covering away from her face. Benedick froze, suddenly feeling too hot in the cold sanctuary.

It was Beatrice.

Benedick frowned as he glanced behind her, realizing which tombs she had been kneeling before. When her eyes fell to him, she stiffened. Clearly, she had not heard him enter.

Out of respect for her mourning, Benedick rose automatically. He often found himself cross and weary after sparring with the proud and haughty niece of Leonarto, but she was a Lady. And no one could accuse Benedick of not following decorum. Also, he was willing to be courteous after seeing her in such a private moment.

She blinked, removing the mantilla as she walked by. Her fiery hair reflected the candlelight, making her glow. Benedick was struck still for a moment. But she offered a stiff and thankful smile as she passed.

Benedick listened to her footfalls recede, happy for true seclusion at last. Two forces of nature were just outside: the high-noon sun and Beatrice. He was in no mood to engage in either. He stared hard at the small altar, studying the bright colors of the Resurrection-themed triptych.

A thought came to him, and he stood quickly. He approached the spot where Beatrice had been kneeling. He knew so little of her; she never shared anything other than jabs and insults.

Looking at the names and dates, his frown deepened. It was the anniversary of her mother's death. He felt a stab of sympathy for her. He inwardly swore at himself; it would not do to start feeling warmth for the detached Beatrice.

But he turned to the entrance, feeling an odd compulsion he was reluctant to admit to. With a final nod of respect for the dead, he rushed outside, not wanting to dwell on why he wanted Beatrice to still be close by.

He found her quickly enough, sitting under the purple canopy of a Jacaranda tree. She apparently still craved solitude, but he felt a need to be near her. Inhaling and wondering what on earth he was thinking, he walked over to her.

Beatrice stood quickly, her shoulders squared for whatever sparring Benedick would instigate. She was in no mood to battle with him today.

But his palms rose to face her, and his expression was earnest. That only made her more cautious.

"My Lady, my condolences on your loss."

His voice was so unexpectedly soft, Beatrice did not know if she'd heard him correctly. She glared, wondering when the bait would be dropped for her to take.

But none came. Benedick knew she'd be defensive, and he wanted to convey his regard. His mouth contorted into a smile.

Stepping back, Beatrice nodded in acknowledgment. "I thank you, Signor," she said awkwardly. She looked around at the empty courtyard. "And what brought you into the chapel this afternoon?"

"The sun is merciless in Messina, is it not?"

She nodded. "I would think you'd seek relief in the public houses of town," she said.

He grinned. "Aye, one will find no fiercer companions than in the local establishments," he said. "Whose loyalty is strong while the spirits are running freely."

She scoffed. "Or whose actions are so foolish when emboldened by drink."

He nodded. "In truth, I was in search of some isolation."

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Benedick was a little affronted. "In truth, yes! The peace of a chapel can be quite welcoming when one is in need of it," he said. At her dubious look, he grinned and shrugged. "And the Prince would not take kindly to his officers being inebriated upon training."

Her eyes widened. "You are to train today?"

"Aye," he said. "We start in an hour."

"In this heat?"

"I have fought battles under less forgiving skies."

She seemed sobered by the thought before regarding the insignia upon his chest. "Tell me, does the sun shine so brightly in Padua?" She rung her hands together, feeling off with the possibly civil conversation. Blaming the heat for the tingling running through her body, she looked away.

Benedick was silenced for a moment, staring at her. The sun laced through the flowered branches, divining an illuminated veil upon her sunrise-colored hair. Once again, she seemed to shine from within. He swallowed, rattled by the unexpected emotions stirring within him.

The words were out before he could stop them. "Messina as the the most radiant visions in all of Italy." Mortified, he whipped his head away.

Beatrice froze, not sure what to make of such a statement. Benedick was never to be taken seriously. She knew that better than anyone. But she believed he'd been sincere when offering his condolences. And yet, she was too well-practiced to let herself think he was actually going to remain kind to her. Bewildered, she turned to see him facing the ocean. He stood tall and bold. The daylight sharpened his strong edges. She inhaled, a sense of security enfolding her. It had been years since she'd felt so at peace. Which confused her all the more.

Benedick cleared his throat and shifted a little. It was rare that Beatrice was without something to say. He should have felt victorious at finally stopping her mouth. But the wind shifted her hair, and all conscious thoughts floated away from his mind as he beheld her.

He reached up and plucked a flower from the tree. Without stepping closer, he extended it out to her.

"In your family's honor," he said softly.

Beatrice took a tiny step toward him, accepting the offering. Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and started to walk away.

Beatrice inhaled the sweet fragrance, her heart jumping a little.

He was nearly too far when she shouted. "Benedick!"

He turned.

She raised the flowers upward in gratitude. "Godspeed."

The Signor dipped forward in acknowledgement before turning to join his regiment.


	2. A Sunlit Respite

**Disclaimer: **Shakespeare, thank you for creating these two wonderful characters.

**A/N**: This takes place shortly after the events of the play have concluded.

**A Sunlit Respite**

The sun has started its decent. But it remains strong, as if it, too, does not want the day to end. The small stretch of sand behind Leonardo's villa is vacant, save a few gulls occasionally swooping to the sea's surface.

Laughter soon joins the calm mantra of the crashing waves. Two people run across the sand, occasionally catching each other's hands and spinning around. They're two adults: one a decorated soldier in the Prince's service, the other a refined lady of the manor.

But love has struck them this day, united forever before God and family. Their unexpectedly entwined destinies have softened them into dancing, merry youths-at-heart.

Beatrice kicks off her white sandals. The light breeze makes her diaphanous, seashell-hued dress float around her like a cloud. As pragmatic as she is, even Beatrice could not fathom being wedded while wearing mourning black. Her companion stares for a second, his face seemingly forever fixed in an expression of pure joy.

She laughs and spins, her red hair flying free of its chignon.

Benedick can bear the separation of three feet no longer and catches her mid-spin. His arms grab around her waist and he twirls her in the opposite direction. Their laughter floats away into the sea.

"My dearest Beatrice," he says, setting her down. "I see I am not alone in feeling like I could fly."

Normally scoffing at such poetic nonsense, Beatrice is nothing but elation. "Aye, my love." She casts a look behind her to the governor's villa before stepping a little closer in a conspiring stance. "And thank you for obliging me."

He grins. "And here I thought I was the one who wanted to be alone," he whispers, leaning closer and kissing her sweetly.

Beatrice's heart flutters in their embrace. The new sensations he has awakened both thrill and scare her. But he is gentle. Ending their kiss, he smiles.

Blushing under his adoring gaze, her fingers dance along the insignia upon his shoulder. "I would never confess to admiring your attire before. But I find your uniform suits you well. You look quite dashing."

He steps back, keeping her hands in his as their arms extend. "I will wear it daily if my lady wishes it," he vows.

"Oh, but then I shall tire of it."

His eyebrows rise. "And shall you tire of your husband?"

She doesn't think such a thing is possible. But she'd never admit to it. "Perhaps one day I will have to remind myself of your good parts," she says. His eyes sparkle as she pulls him closer. "But not today."

He leans in to kiss her again, but she laughs playfully and turns. He reaches out for her, but she has escaped, running ankle deep into the warm Tyrrhenian waters. A slightly larger wave envelopes her legs, making her dress darken and wrap around her shapely form. Benedick swallows. Surely God cannot be so kind to him as to grant him this vision for the rest of his days.

He discards his shoes and socks, eager to join her. When he nears, he sees fire in her eyes. She cradles his face within her hands and he leans down to meet his lips to hers. He is stunned at the passion in her. His arms wrap around her back, bringing her closer than ever before. Her light moan tickles his mouth. Tentatively, his tongue runs along her lips, and to his everlasting joy, she allows him in. He gently explores, finding her matching him in their little dance. She dips a little as her knees weaken, and he holds her to him firmly.

She gasps as they finally break apart. He smiles tenderly as his hands rest upon her hips, keeping her close. He rests his forehead against hers.

"In truth," she whispers, "do you really feel as you said earlier?"

"In what way?"

She blushes. "That you won't have a word said against marriage?"

He gathers a little of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. "I love being married to you."

She closes her eyes and sighs in pure bliss.

"And you? Do you still prefer to hear your dog barking at a crow than speeches of love?" he asks.

She looks up at him and smirks. "If my memory has not faltered, your declaration wasn't much better than a dog's howl."

He grins. Their merry war will never end, and the idea of their bantering future makes his heart beat faster.

But her mockery is quickly replaced by tenderness. "I can believe only one man when he says he loves me," she says.

His head dips closer. "And who might that be?"

"Oh, some poor jester I married."

Snorting, he leans down and kisses her again, finding themselves lost to everything but each other. Time seems to suspend, measured by the soft waves unfolding upon the shore.

The lovers are pulled from their isolated rapture by an upsurge of music. They turn to see the villa suddenly completely ablaze with lights.

Beatrice leans into him. "I suppose it will be bad form to miss the festivities in our honor."

"We can claim we thought they were for Hero and Claudio."

"My aunt will never forgive me," she mutters.

Benedick takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips. "To the ball, then my Lady?"

She rolls her eyes, but she cannot restrain her smile. Hand in hand, they walk back to the villa.


End file.
